His Sixth Sense
by learningtowrite1996
Summary: "Darry," said Pony quietly. "I think I'm ready to tell you my secret." I listened, nodding for him to go on. "I - I see dead people." His voice was hoarse and frightened. I kept my cool, and tried to hide my shaking hands. "How often do you see them?" Pony took a deep breath and spoke very slowly. "All the time." Based off The Sixth Sense movie.
1. Some of the First Nightmares

**A/N: All right, so I've had this idea forever, but I didn't want to start it until I had some other stories finished. But I figured since Forgetting a Star is around two chapters away from being complete, I am safe to post this. I hope you guys like it :)**

His Sixth Sense

April 11th, 1964 (three weeks after Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were killed in a car accident)

I laid in bed that night, choosing to just stay up and wait, rather than fall asleep and be woken by the screech that was certain to come from Ponyboy's room. It would be easier, I told myself. And I would probably be able to get to him quicker.

I hated his nightmares.

I _hated_ them.

He couldn't even remember what they were about, which made me think that there was something seriously wrong with him in the head. Either he was lying, and didn't want Soda or I to know what his dreams were about, or he truly didn't know why the hell he was screaming bloody murder every night.

And that frightened me.

I don't like it when people are mentally traumatized. I don't like it when someone is not in control of their mind. It scares me way worse than something like being beat up, or maybe even kidnapped. Because if you don't have your mind, what do you have? At least if someone is hurting you, there is a way to fight back. You can't see your mind. And I appreciate being able to see my enemies.

Around one in the morning, I thought that maybe, just maybe, we were in the clear. Usually his nightmare came around midnight. By one-thirty, I was about to let myself go to sleep. At thirty-five, the screaming started.

A series of chills flew up my entire body as I bolted myself out of bed. I ripped open the door and ran down the hall, nearly plowing into Sodapop. His eyes were bloodshot and darkened. It looked as if he had decided to wait up as well.

Pony was screaming in his room. I hesitated at the door, not wanting to go inside. Soda didn't seem to want any pauses, because he pushed me to the side and was shaking Pony awake in a matter of seconds.

I don't think anything scares Soda. Well, no. I take that back. A lot of things scare Soda probably. He just doesn't let that stop him.

Very carefully, I stepped into the darkened room; only illuminated by the yellow hall light. I turned Pony's switch on.

"Shh, Pony. Pony, wake up," Soda had a hand on Pony's shoulder, and his mouth was close to his ear. I stood about five feet from the bed. Pony screamed again, his back curving up into an arch. I was reminded of someone that was possessed.

Soda shook Pony harder. "You're dreaming Pony! Wake up!" his grip was vicious. "Wake up, wake up! Please!"

Pony then sat straight up, almost right into Soda; he moved out of the way just in time. His eyes opened, and I felt the courage to move forward beside him. Ponyboy has childish eyes.

My youngest brother's breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. Soda ran his fingers through Pony's hair, and I put my hand on his shoulder. His face was sheen with sweat. I felt a thick lump rise in my throat that usually resulted in tears. God, but I hate crying.

"You're all right, you're all right," cooed Soda, hugging Pony tightly.

"Do you –" I licked my lips. "Do you remember? What it was about?"

Pony shook his head, putting his face in his hands. I kept my place on the floor, with my hand still on his shoulder. There was this sick, dark feeling in the pit of my stomach. The feeling that I had already started to fail at raising my brothers. My parents had been dead for only a few weeks, and I already couldn't handle it.

Soda looked to me, his face pleading. His gaze clearly told me that he wanted to know what to do. What is the solution, Darry? Is there a solution, Darry? What should we do? Will he be all right? You make the call, Darry. You're the oldest, so you make the call.

And I wouldn't fail. It was time to take action. Two weeks of nightmares were enough. "We'll all sleep in Mom and Dad's room tonight. Maybe, you'll feel better if we aren't separated, kiddo," I said softly, trying to catch Pony's eye. His gaze was wrapped into the corner by the window, but he eventually looked at me, nodding.

"And tomorrow, we'll take you to the doctor," I continued. "Maybe he will have some suggestions for us. I don't want you to have to go through this anymore."

Pony nodded again, his eyes still flicking back to the corner. I looked there too, but didn't see anything.

"The doctor, Darry?" inquired Soda. "What do you think he would be able to do?"

In all honesty, I didn't know. But I didn't want to say that in front of Pony. It peeved me a little that Soda had asked in front of him. The kid was completely colorless and shaking with his big eyes still on that goddamn corner. If I had known then what he was staring at, I probably would have lost my head entirely. And wasn't I always the one that told Pony to use his head? The fact that he didn't start screaming again in that moment still amazes (and... disturbs?) me sometimes.

"He'll examine the situation, probably," I said, rubbing my left temple. "Ask you questions," I squeezed Pony's shoulder. "And he will tell us some advice. Anything, I think, is better than doing nothing."

Soda nodded, still hugging Pony. I bit my tongue and stood up.

"Come on then," I told them. "Let's go get some rest. The two of you can skip school tomorrow," Soda grinned. Glory, did that kid hate school. He would drop out before that year even ended. "And I'll take off work so we can get you checked out, kiddo."

That time, Pony didn't even nod at my words. Soda pulled him out of bed and to his feet. I rubbed my arms, feeling a kind of cold atmosphere in the room. Which was strange because it was mid-April.

"Glory, it is cold in here," I said. Soda nodded.

"Yeah, I noticed that too. There must be a crack in the window or something." Soda let go of Pony, and walked closer to the window. Pony's face became horror-struck at he looked, once again, at that corner.

"Soda!" he nearly screamed. "Wait!" Soda jumped nearly a foot in the air.

"What?" he asked quickly, spinning around.

Pony's mouth hung open. I stared at Pony, and remember thinking, _The poor kid's nerves are setting him completely on edge._

"Bed," I told them both, gesturing to Soda. Pony looked sickly, and Soda bewildered. I put my arm around Pony's shoulder. Right as we stepped out of his bedroom, the air became instantly warmer. I frowned.

"That's strange," I said very quietly, to myself. Pony probably heard me, but didn't say a word. He looked so extremely strange.

As Soda came to walk beside me, I whispered in his ear, "Take Pony in to bed. I'll be there in a second."

Soda nodded, and I let go of Pony. I waited until they were both inside of our late parent's bedroom before I turned back around into Pony's room. I wanted to figure out why his room was freezing cold, and the rest of the house wasn't.

Right as I stepped back inside, goosebumps raised up on my arms. I proceeded over to the window, checking to see if it was open a bit, or maybe cracked. But once I got there, it looked perfectly fine. And then, very suddenly, I felt this nervous feeling in my stomach. The kind of feeling you get when you are walking all by yourself at night, and you see a black van suddenly following you. Or the feeling you get when the police come to your front door, telling you that your parents were killed by a speeding drunk driver. All three people were killed on impact, I was told.

Or maybe it was that scary feeling people get when someone unknown is standing behind them. Once I was sure there was no source of the cold, I left the room in a jumpy hurry. Right before I was in the hallway, I flicked off the light.

**So, what do you think? I would love some reviews! :)**


	2. Trust Was Somehow Lost

**A/N: I really hope you like, and can make some inferences about this chapter. **

His Sixth Sense

July 30th, 1964 (eight days after Ponyboy Curtis' fourteenth birthday)

_ There is no way in hell that I can do this anymore._

I remember those being my thoughts on that day. The house was a mess, a social worker was coming the next morning, Sodapop had just told me the day before that he wasn't going back to school when summer was over, and Ponyboy was who knows where.

Honestly. Where was that kid?

He had been gone since I woke up. And at that point, it was around two in the afternoon. I tried to keep my cool, since I had been yelling at Ponyboy more lately. And he probably didn't really need me yelling at him, especially with mom and dad's deaths being so fresh. But it just seemed like he was more dreamy and out of it than usual. I would always find him staring off into space, or not listening when someone else (especially me) was talking to him.

I needed a new job. My current one at a fast food restaurant wasn't really doing the trick. Not at all. I had finally been given the final okay to be allowed to keep my brothers at the court case a week before. Which meant that I now needed to prove that I deserved to keep them. Which meant I needed money.

In high school, I worked for a roofing company. And I _was_ going to go and talk to my old boss, and ask him if there were any work spots open. But I was too nervous to leave the house, in case Ponyboy called and needed something.

Boy, was that kid in some deep trouble.

It felt eerie being alone in my house. None of the gang was there, my parents were dead, Sodapop was at the DX, filling out job paperwork, and my youngest brother was MIA. I sat down at the kitchen table with my face in my hands.

I whipped my head up when I heard the front door creak open slowly. In came Ponyboy, looking pale, with overlarge eyes. He looked to the left, and then to the right before fully coming in. Then he spotted me. And I know for a fact that I looked pissed.

"Hi Darry." he said meekly.

I didn't skirt around the issue. "Where have you been?"

He shut the door behind him, and then began fiddling with his T-shirt. "The park."

I frowned. "The park?"

"Yeah, the one with the fountain."

I frowned even deeper. It seemed like I was always frowning. "How long were you there? Were you by yourself?"

He shook his head. "Not the entire time. Me and Johnny met up there this morning. His folks are fighting pretty bad."

Poor Johnny. He was just living proof that some of the best people have the most rotten luck. I couldn't get mad at Pony for helping Johnny out. He was just being a buddy. But I could get mad that he didn't tell me about going to the park, and for staying there by himself after Johnny left.

"You said not the entire time. When did Johnny leave?"

"Couple hours ago."

"And you stayed?"

Ponyboy looked at me imploringly, like he wanted to tell me something. "Yes."

I caught that look on his face. My feet moved closer to him, and he looked as if he wanted to take a step back. "Did something happen?"

He didn't answer. Instead, his eyes found something over my shoulder. They became extremely wide, and his mouth gasped in horror. I turned around quickly, thinking some intruder was possibly in the house. My eyes flicked to the spot under the couch where I hid my gun, before I saw nothing at all in my sight. The kitchen, and front room was completely empty except for myself and Ponyboy. I turned back around to face him.

He was still looking over my shoulder, completely frozen with horror. "What are you looking at?" I asked, a little frightened. "There isn't anything there!"

Seeming to have not heard me, Pony stumbled backwards with a little cry, and hit into the small cabinet in the living room. I caught him by the forearm before he could trip and fall over it, and stopped the cabinet from crashing to the ground with my other arm.

I opened my mouth to question his strange behavior, but stopped short when he launched his small, newly fourteen-year-old self at me; his arms became vice-like around my waist.

"Pony – what the – "

He hid his face in my side like a little child. I was beyond surprised, because Pony, never, ever acted like that. Well, not with me at least. Maybe sometimes he would show Soda how much something upset him, but I wasn't the first person he went to. I think I made Pony nervous. I didn't exactly blame him, because I was a lot older and that was bound to intimidate him. But I did love him a lot. I just don't think I understood how to show it very well.

"Oh my gosh – oh my – oh my – " he let go of my waist, and ran further into the living room. I was absolutely, in every way, bewildered. But that hot, terrifying feeling settled back into my stomach. It was the same feeling I experienced the night Pony had the nightmare that decided his visit to the doctor's office. The feeling that something might possibly be wrong with my kid brother's mind. Something that I couldn't fight.

I crossed over to him at lightning speed, putting both of my hands on either side of his face. "What is it?! What is the matter?"

He finally quit looking at places with nothing in them, and looked into my face. A strange kind of understanding came into his eyes. He was completely bloodless.

"Nothing," he said very, very quietly. "I just – realized something."

"Realized what?" I demanded.

He swallowed, looking like tears were coming. "Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing? You just had a freak attack. It was obviously something." I took my hands off the sides of his face, and moved them to the tops of his arms.

"I can't tell you. You wouldn't understand."

It was just seven words. Only seven words. But it had around the same effect that the three words 'I hate you' did on my mother when I said them to her. What a childish brat I was, and what I would give to take it back. I don't even remember what she did to cause me to say those words. It was something about her not driving me somewhere right when I wanted her to. But I do remember her crying in her bedroom, and my father knocking me in the head for the first, and last time in my entire life. No one made his wife cry.

The effect on me hurt worse than I will ever tell anybody. At that time, I knew mine and Pony's relationship was strained. But I was trying my best, and I thought that he saw that. But he couldn't tell me what was on his mind. I wouldn't understand, he said. And that left me at a bit of a loss. All that remained, sadly, was fury.

I let go of him. "I wont understand? Fine," Pony's hands shook. "Go in your room then, if I can't understand anything."

Tears leaked out of Pony's eyes. "Darry –"

"You heard me. In your room. Unless you can tell me what the hell just happened." I knew I was being mean, and I knew I was being irrational, but those damn seven words really just hit me hard. And unfortunately, my emotions decided to come out on the kid.

"Darry, please – "

"You heard me," I grabbed him by the arm, and moved him a little. "To your room."

He resisted me, his eyes becoming larger at the sight of the open door to his room. "Darry, wait. Please, don't."

"Not until you tell me."

"I _can't _tell you!"

"Then you can be in your room! I don't want to see you!"

I put him through the open door, and closed it. Before it closed, I caught one last glimpse of his innocent, horrified face. I wondered in that moment what the hell was wrong with me.

I walked slowly away from the door, hearing him call out, "Darry, Darry!" But I couldn't let him come out. If I let him come out, he would walk all over me. At least, that was what I managed to rationalize.

Silence soon rang throughout the house, crushing me. Pony soon stopped calling for me. I sat down on the couch, turning on the television; I just needed some noise. Maybe Dallas would come over, or Two-Bit. Two-Bit was always good when you just needed to be cheered up.

A couple hours passed, and Pony did not ask to come outside. A painful knot was settled in my gut.

Once the sun had finally begun to set, Soda burst in through the door. I turned to look at him, happy for him to be there, with me.

"He hired me!" Soda said jovially. "I'm hired!"

I stood up. "That's great, little buddy. Real great! When do you start?"

His eyes scanned around for Pony. "Tomorrow morning. At seven."

I tried to distract him from asking the question that was sure to come. "What about Steve? Did he get such luck?"

"Yeah – yeah, but he is working part-time. Hey, Darry, where is – "

"How's your boss? Does he seem like a good guy?"

"Yeah, he liked me. Where is – "

"What is his name?"

"Jackson Calvins. Is – "

"When do you start?" I felt heat on the back of my neck.

Soda smiled slightly. "Darry, you already asked that."

Damn.

"Do you know where Ponyboy is?"

I leaned against the wall, defeated. "Yeah, he's in his bedroom."

Lordy, Pony was gonna sell me out to Soda. I felt so bad for how I treated him, and now Soda was gonna hate me for it as well.

Soda nodded, and knocked on Pony's door. "Hey, ba-aby," he said happily. I peeked behind him, to see what my youngest brother was doing in there.

He was sitting on his bed with his legs straight out, and ankles over one another. A book sat in his hands. He looked perfectly normal, but when he looked up at Soda, and saw me standing in the doorway, I saw that his eyes were red around the edges. He also looked sort of sick.

Soda's glowing expression darkened when he saw Pony. "Hey," his voice was incredibly gentle. "What's the matter, kiddo?"

Pony looked to me with slight fear. I felt like a complete prick. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Nothing."

Soda squinted his eyes, and ruffled Pony's hair. "Well, I got the job. Things are gonna be better now. We wont be so dirt poor."

Ponyboy nodded, trying to look happy for his brother. But I knew, and understood what was going on inside him. Or, at least I thought I did.

Life goes on. And it certainly did after that day. But ever since then, Pony and my relationship changed. Forever. It did get better, and we learned to understand each other. But it never was innocent again. If that makes sense. Does it?

And what's more, Soda never found out about my treatment of our kid brother. Neither of us ever told him.

**I would certainly dig some reviews :)**


	3. A Kid Named Parker Robison

His Sixth Sense

October 25th, 1964 (about a month after Dallas Winston and Johnny Cade passed away)

Me and Darry started to understand each other, I stopped running into the door, my grades went up, and the weather started getting colder.

But Darry actually didn't understand anything about me, and sometimes it was colder in my own bedroom than it was outside. Because ever since the night those police knocked on the door, telling me and my brothers that our parents were dead, I've had a bit of a problem.

And the problem is that – I think I see dead people.

Maybe I'm crazy? Unlikely, if you want my honest opinion. Because I can't help and feel that the dead people I see, are behind on the earth for some reason. Maybe, they have some unfinished buisness. At that point, all I really knew was that it scared me beyond all reason. And I couldn't tell anybody. It was like this heavy weight that took on my entire heart. I never even told Johnny, and I usually told him lots of the stuff that went on in my head. It was too late to tell him, anyways.

On October 25th I was sitting on the couch in the living room, finishing up a paper for my English class. Darry wouldn't be home from work until eight, and Soda not until six.

I wasn't used to the house being so quiet. Ever since Dally and Johnny died, everything seemed calmer in my house. Which I didn't really like. Because when I'm alone, and I see things, it's about ten times worse.

Every day I see something. Every single day. They are everywhere. And they just walk around, like they only see what they want to see.

I looked up from my homework when I heard the clinking of dishes in the kitchen. Two-Bit. He must have come through the back door. I set my papers aside to go and meet him, glad that there was someone else in my house.

It sounded like silverware was being placed on the table. I thought, _why is Two-Bit setting the table? That's strange._

When I peeked through the kitchen door, however, my friend wasn't there. Instead there was a grown lady with brown hair, standing by my stove. I stopped in my tracks, feeling a sudden, stifling coldness.

I swallowed. "Um – excuse me. Are you – "

The lady threw a pot against the counter. I jumped. "No! Dinner is NOT ready!" she screamed. I started to back out of the kitchen. She wasn't alive. She was dead, she was dead, she was dead.

She whirled around to face me. Her neck, and cheek had large, dark bruises on them. "And you know what else?!" her voice was screechy. "YOU CAN'T HURT ME ANYMORE!" I saw her wrists, which were bleeding heavily out of perfectly straight, deep cuts. They ran all the way up her forearms.

I pushed open the door, and ran out of the kitchen. I continued on through the living room, just trying to get out of the house. Her voice rang out, screaming, "JERRY YOU ARE A TERRIBLE HUSBAND! LOOK WHAT YOU MADE ME DO!"

Thank God it was daytime. I hate seeing them at night.

I ran outside, onto the sidewalk. I could still hear her.

I didn't want her screaming to be in my head anymore. So I turned away from my house, opened the gate, and started running away again, when –

"Ouch! Watch where you're going, kid!" said an unfamiliar voice. Whoever it was grabbed me by the shoulders, steadying me.

I looked up at whom I had bumped into. He was a tall boy, looking to be about eighteen; maybe nineteen. His hair was dark, and fell into his eyes. He squinted his eyes at me. I shook even more at the sight of him. Although his hair wasn't greased, and his clothes weren't extremely shabby, he still had a sort of rough look about him. He reminded me something of Dallas; although they looked nothing alike, and Dally did anything he could to make sure at least one piece of his clothing was torn in some way.

"Sorry – sorry – I'm – "

"Don't sweat it," he said, releasing me. "Just took me by surprise is all."

I nodded, still hearing the woman scream in my house. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Hey, you okay?" the guy asked me. I guess I didn't look too good.

"I'm fine." I said meekly. He looked away from me, and at my house. He looked suspicious.

"Why'd you run out of there? Got fighting parents or something?"

I tried to catch his eye, to keep him from looking at my house. _Why?_ I thought to myself. _He can't see anything. It's only you._

"No, my parents are dead. I live with my older brothers."

He stopped trying to see the inside of my house, and looked at me, stricken. "Gosh, I'm sorry kid."

I shook my head. "It's fine – don't be sorry." I winced at another piercing scream.

"So, why did you run out then?" he asked, noticing my wince. "One of your brothers? I could go in there and straighten them out." he cracked his knuckles comically. I smiled.

"No, they're both at work," I told him. He raised his eyebrows. "And they're good guys." I added.

He smiled a little bit too. "What's your name, kid?"

"Ponyboy. Ponyboy Curtis."

His eyes lit up. "Man, I'd recognize your name anywhere. You're Darry and Sodapop's kid brother?"

I nodded. "Yeah." I wondered how this guy knew my brothers. Well, no, because pretty much everyone knew Soda and Darry. "How do you – "

"Met both of them at a party around a year ago. They got me out of a pretty bad situation with the cops. You're right, they are good guys."

"Yeah – they are," I felt slightly awkward. He knew Darry and Soda, not me. That was usually how it worked out. And it always made me feel small and insignificant.

"Of course," he started again. "I only met them for a couple of minutes. I don't even think I told them my name."

"What's that?" I asked him.

He chuckled. "Parker Robison." He forcibly shook my hand. My arm was like a noodle. He chuckled at me again.

"Nice to meet you, Parker." I said.

"You too, kid. God, you remind me of my younger brother."

I perked up. Now maybe I had some connections. "What's his name? Maybe I know him from school."

"You never would've gone to the same school as him. Me and my momma and sister moved here from New Orleans only about a year and a half ago."

I didn't understand. A year and a half ago? Then his brother and I probably went to the same school at some point, even if he graduated.

"I don't – "

"We moved here after he died," he said, cutting me off. I shut my mouth. "He was – what, thirteen? Yeah, thirteen. He would be almost fifteen today."

"I'm sorry," I said, sincere. The screaming had begun to fade. "How – how did he die?"

Parker stared at the ground. "He was shot. My sister, Lillian, is very pretty. The leader of one of the gangs down there, Jed Wicker, developed this sort of obsession with her,"

The guy didn't even know me. We had literally just bumped into each other. Why did he trust me with such a story? I listened on with rapt attention.

"She knows who she is, and wanted nothing to do with him. And that really, really pissed him off. I confronted him, and told him to back the hell away from my sister, or I'd make him wish he was never born. Well, he flipped that statement around on me, for sure."

Dear God.

"He had a couple of his gang members shoot down my brother in an alleyway. To teach me and my sister both a lesson. They told me that they left him there for hours, just struggling for breath. It wasn't a quick death, they told me."

I could feel that my eyes were huge. He looked down at me quickly, as if he was stunned that he had told so much. "Sorry, forgot that you're just a kid."

"I'm a kid, but I'm no innocent." I told him. He shrugged.

"I guess so. No one at my house will even talk about it. They don't talk to me either." he rubbed his arm, seeming lost in thought. Then he grabbed my shoulder again.

"Let's go somewhere," he told me.

"What?" I was taken aback. "Where?"

"I dunno, somewhere. Unless you wanna go back in your house?"

I looked back, and although the screaming had stopped, I thought that there was nowhere I would want to be less, than in there.

"All right. Just keep me out of trouble."

OooOooOoo

We ended up walking around an old place that sold even older cars. Parker said that he loved cars.

"Do you have one?" I asked him.

"Nah, we've only got one car at my place. And I never get to drive it."

"My brother, Soda works at the DX. And his friend Steve is great with cars."

"I'd like to meet him," said Parker with a grin. "Do they go to your school?"

"Steve does," I told him. "But not Soda. He dropped out a little bit ago." Gosh, I hate that he dropped out. I never will get over that.

Parker picked up on that. "Sore subject?"

I shrugged. "A bit. I still think he was too smart to drop out."

Parker picked up a rusty car piece and surveyed it with fake interest. "Then I think this would be a swell time to say, that I dropped out too, just this year."

I laughed a little. "I ain't gonna judge you. You've got good reason. Soda just did it cause he's lazy."

Parker dropped the rusty metal on the ground and looked at me. "What's my reason? My dead brother?"

I stopped, and chose my words carefully. Perhaps I had said the wrong thing. "Well, is it your reason?" We had stopped walking; I decided on another question. "Why did you guys move out here anyways?"

Parker rubbed his arm again, and sat on the hood of one of the cars. I looked around for the owner of the car yard. He was quite a few feet away, talking to some lady with a baby. He didn't seem to mind Parker sitting on the car. Maybe Parker was one of those guys, like Dally, that could just do what they wanted.

"We didn't move out here cause Jimmy died. We moved out here because – I couldn't handle myself."

I stared at him imploringly, and listened like a good friend would. I wanted to be a good friend to someone, since I had pretty much failed Johnny.

"I wanted to kill those boys. Hell," he laughed bitterly. "I still do. The day after we discovered my dead brother, I found some of Jed Wicker's gang. That was when they taunted me, and told me how the shooters got Jimmy right in the shoulder, and the thigh. That way, he would definetly bleed out, but it would take some time." Parker gulped back, what seemed like pure fury. "I lost my mind, and nearly killed one of the boys."

I wondered if Dally had seen horrible things like that when he roamed around in New York. What if Dally had a little brother, or sister? He never really told us much about his family, except for his dad being a bastard. Parker shifted up further on the car. The owner walked right past us, giving me a slightly funny look.

"So my mom moved us out here. She works for this restaurant franchise, and they were able to get her a job. But I ain't a kid, and moving wont stop me."

"Parker," I said, serious. "You wouldn't go back to New Orleans to kill those guys, would you?"

He smiled, and it wasn't from happiness. "Already done. About a month ago."

I took a step back, mentally kicking myself. What had I gotten into? Had I foolishly walked off with a murderer? I only did it because he said he had met Darry and Soda.

Parker tilted his head at me, noticing my step back. "I just said that to be dramatic. I only got to New Orleans, I didn't actually kill them. Didn't get the chance. I took a flight back down there, found the Wicker gang, and they were ready for me. I was stupid, and didn't think. They beat the shit out of me before I could even throw a punch."

The breath caught in my throat. He looked fine to me. "How bad did they get you?" I asked quietly.

He shrugged, as if getting the shit beat out of you was no big deal. "Pretty bad, to be honest. But the worst part has been being back home. My mom and sister are so pissed at me for leaving. I guess they just really wanted to forget about the whole thing."

"They wont talk to you?"

"They wont talk to me. Not a word." he looked at his hands. I let out a breath, and could see foggy air around my mouth.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

Parker ran his hand over his mouth, and let out a breath. "Don't be sorry," he smiled halfway. "You're a good kid. I can tell. Do you like to read?"

"Yeah – yeah I do," I said, surprised.

He grinned an actual grin; not out of meanness. "Jimmy liked to read. I'm dumb as a post, but he would write these beautiful things that he learned in books, and read them to me. I told him that he was a sensitive little punk. I hope he knew that I didn't mean it."

"My brothers tease me," I wanted to assure him. "And I still like them."

"I'm sure they like you too," said Parker. "Little brothers don't understand how important they are to their older brothers. I don't think I fully got it until mine was gone."

I thought of when I ran away, and how it caused Darry to openly cry in front of me. Darry never cried. I thought of Soda moving into my room, as a grown kid. And he did it because I was afraid at night, and he wanted me to be happy. I thought of how Darry and Soda worked all day, practically living for me. And I was so grateful.

"Come on," said Parker, hopping off the car. "Let's get you home. It's effing cold out here."

**Hope you guys liked it. Tell me what you think :)**


	4. Ghosts and Bullies at School

His Sixth Sense

October 28th, 1964 (Three days after Ponyboy Curtis met Parker Robison)

It was not a good day.

The weather was rainy and cold, my head ached, and the morning before school, I'd had an episode. That time, there was no way I could hide it from my brothers and the boys.

I had been getting dressed in my room. As I opened the closet door to get my shoes, I found a young boy sitting in there. He looked seemingly normal, and grinned up at me. The grin sent shivers down my spine.

"Come on," he said menacingly. "I'll show you where my dad keeps his gun."

The boy came out of the closet, advancing on me. As he got closer, I backed away, and saw blood creeping slowly down the side of his head. I made my way to the door, just wanting to get to Soda, or anyone.

He turned around, and I saw that the back of his head was completely blown off and crimson with blood.

"Come on," he said, looking back at me. "I want you to come see!"

I shook my head, not speaking, and walked backwards. He strode over to me, and his young face became frightening. I felt him grab my wrist.

"Come with me!" he screamed. I ripped myself away.

"No!" I flung open the door, and slammed it shut. The sound echoed throughout the entire house.

He continued to scream at me from the other side of the door. "Leave me alone!" I cried so loudly that I swear my throat tore somehow.

Someone grabbed me by the shoulders and whipped me around. A bolt of fright went through me, because for a second I thought it was somehow the boy, or another one of the dead. As if on instinct, I hit the person's chest, trying to push myself away. My mouth screeched, "No!" and I flew back into the wall.

"Whoa!" the person said, taken aback. It was Sodapop. "What's the matter?!"

I cursed myself for not seeing that it was him. I leaned against the hallway wall, breathing heavily.

"Nothing." My voice said with every fiber that those words were a lie. Soda raised his eyebrows at me.

"Don't give me that. It didn't sound, or look like nothing."

I glared at him. "Well, it was, so just forget about it. Now, excuse me, but I need to get to school." I tried to push past him. He stopped me.

We looked at each other for a second, and I knew that he expected for me to break, and tell him what was going on. But he didn't understand that my issue wasn't just a problem with friends, or something about sports. It was taking over my life, and was a secret that I didn't have the courage to tell anyone.

He looked down at my feet. "You going without your shoes?"

Dang.

I sighed. "No, I'll get shoes."

Pause. Could I go back in my room? The boy was making some kind of choking noise.

If I wasn't such a wimp, maybe I could.

Could I go to school without shoes?

Probably. It would suck though.

Would Soda let me borrow a pair of his shoes?

Yes. But those were also in the room with the bloody ghost child.

Could Soda get my shoes for me?

Yes, he could. But would he?

"I've – I've gotta get my backpack ready," I told Sodapop after my mental evaluation. "Could you get them for me? They're in the closet."

It sounded weird; I sounded weird. I could tell. Soda squinted his eyes at me and reached a hand out to my forehead.

"You feel warm, Pony."

"I don't feel it."

"Well, normally the person can't tell."

"It's not warm. I'm not warm," I was telling the truth. "It's freezing in this house."

"Do you wanna stay home?"

"No. I want some shoes. Could you please get them for me?"

And before he could ask any more questions, I strode away, and down the hall. When I entered the living room, I saw Steve, Two-Bit, and Darry. They were looking at me.

Steve looked like his usual brooding self. Darry looked like he wanted to shake me by the shoulders. Two-Bit looked strangely serious.

Darry handed me my backpack. His eyebrows were scrunched. "Were you yelling at Soda?" He asked, a little angrily.

I shook my head quickly. "No."

Two-Bit kind of circled me. "Then who were you yelling at?"

"No one."

Steve groaned. "Augh, why do you always gotta be so confusing? Stop having – "

"Steve," Soda entered the room, looking panicky. He was holding some shoes for me. "Leave him alone."

Steve rolled his eyes. But Two-Bit's face showed concern. "You look really pale, kid. Are you sick?"

I grabbed my shoes from Soda. "No. I am not sick." My answer was bitter.

Two-Bit looked skeptical. I knew he was thinking of months ago when I had given the same answer, and it was a lie. And that lie had nearly caused something worse than a couple of days lying in bed.

My neck started to grow hot as I felt them staring at me. It was one of the first times that Darry, Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit realized that there was something secretly wrong with me.

Once I got to school, it felt like there was a constant bright light in my eyes, and every classroom felt chilly.

In History, we were learning about a courthouse down in Philadelphia making some of the first laws at the start of America. Right as my teacher, Mr. Collins told us this, I heard a grown man's voice whisper in my ear.

"They also had me hung there."

I jumped so high that my desk almost clattered over. My hand flew forward and caught it just in time. I turned my head to look at the whisperer.

He was dressed like men dressed four-hundred years ago. Brown pants, held up with suspenders, and a white shirt made with strange fabric. His face was gray and covered in a thick, bristly beard.

"Yes, I suppose the History books leave that detail out," said another voice, this time belonging to a woman. She was on my other side.

I turned my head to look at her as well. She was absolutely filthy and her hair was greasy. The two of them were crouched down on the ground on either sides of my desk.

"Why don't you tell him?" The man said, nudging me. "Why don't you let your clever teacher know the truth?"

I tried my very best to ignore the two of them. A History class filled with Socs was not the best place to have a craziness attack.

My teacher continued to explain how the laws contributed to America. The woman cackled. Her voice sounded disgusting.

"Go one, little boy. Tell him the truth!" She shook my arm.

The man got right in my face. His eyes looked insane. "Tell him!"

I raised my hand, afraid when his voice became loud. The two of them laughed at me.

Mr. Collins saw my raised hand, and nodded to me. Everyone turned in their seats to glimpse what I was going to say. Most of their faces held smirks, or deep dislike.

I slowly lowered my hand, and said shakily, "Um – they – they used to hang people there."

Everyone made little gasps, and my teacher raised his eyebrows. He was frowning.

"No, no Ponyboy. It was the first courthouse in American history. Some of the first lawmakers ever – "

"They were the ones that hung people!" I said quickly. People started to look at each other, and giggle.

My teacher's mouth was formed in a half smile that plainly told me that I was an idiot. Blood boiled in my face. "Ponyboy, I don't know which of these kids told you that," He looked mock-suspiciously at three Soc boys sitting in the front row. "But they were just trying to scare you."

The dead woman hissed, and the man banged his fist on my desk. I drew away from him. When I looked back at Mr. Collins, I saw his expression being a mixture of pity and amusement. The three Soc boys in the front row were cracking up. I shot a glare at my teacher, then avoided his glance.

He let out a little laugh, and continued talking about laws and lawmakers. The two dead people kept whispering in my ears. I felt sick.

When the bell rang, I tried to bolt out of there. But those three Soc boys caught me in the hallway. One of them grabbed the back of my shirt.

"Hey, Curtis, I'm confused. How many people did they hang?"

I tried to pry myself away from him. A second one shoved me into a locker.

"Well, I'm confused why you're such a little freak. Honestly. Killing people, running away, telling creepy stories in class – "

The third one punched me in the stomach. "Shove off," I spat.

They laughed. "Not a friendly little kid, is he?"

I pushed back. They grabbed my arms and hit me into the locker again.

I was thrown away, back into the hallway. Someone made a noise as I hit into them.

"Whoa, kid," It was Two-Bit. I looked up at him gratefully. He set his eyes to the three Socs. "What're you bastards up to?"

They grinned at each other. One walked past Two-Bit and I jauntily. "Nothing much."

The other two followed, and Two-Bit's hand flexed. "Stupid Socs. What'd they do to you, kid?"

I pulled away from him. "Nothing. Just messing with me."

He looked me in this face, worried. I wanted him off my case. "What's going on, kid?"

"Nothing Two-Bit. Glory, when did you get so uptight?"

He shrugged. "When you became so difficult to look after."

I stared him down. "Thanks, that makes me feel great."

OooOooOoo

Once I got home, I avoided everyone by going to the lot. I knew they thought I was acting weird, and I didn't want to risk another chance of them seeing me have an episode.

As I sat in the grass, fiddling around with it, I could sense someone walking up behind.

_I swear to God, _I thought angrily. _If that is a Soc or another dead maniac I'm gonna explode._

But when I looked to see who it was, I felt relief. "Hey, Parker,"

He sat down beside me. "Hey kid. Whatcha up to?"

I pulled my knees up to my chest. "Just sitting in the grass."

Parker laughed. "Don't wanna be in your house again?"

He thought there was trouble in the home. "It isn't like that, Parker."

"Sure seems like it is."

"Seems like what?"

"Like you and your brothers butt heads or something. Does the oldest one ever get mad at you?"

"Darry?" I asked. Parker nodded. "When I'm being dumb, I guess. They're good to me. I've told you this."

"Then why do you keep running away?"

I let out a groan of frustration. Why couldn't everyone just leave me alone? How come if I ever acted a little bit out of the ordinary, people jumped down my throat? My brothers, my friends, my teacher, kids at school, and now Parker, who had sort of forced his way into my life. I knew he was lonely, and I knew because of the loss of his brother he wanted someone to look after. But I really, _really_ didn't need another older guy seeing me as a useless kid.

But something told me, that part of the reason I was so upset about being questioned and harassed was _because_ I was keeping the secret inside. Because it was such a mentally and physically terrifying thing, and no one could help me with it. I thought I was crazy, or maybe even possessed with some kind of evil spirit. And I had to worry all by myself.

I rested my head on the tops of my knees. "Parker," I said desperately.

Parker would listen, I told myself. I felt that Parker would probably do anything for me. Because he needed something good to do.

He looked at me. "Yeah?"

I glanced both ways, to make sure no one could possibly be listening. Then I said, very, very quietly, "I have to tell you something. But you've gotta promise not to tell anyone."

Parker nodded fervently, and his eyes were alight. "I promise."

** Please review. It makes me want to update faster.**

** Thanks for everything guys :)**


	5. A Lying Little Brother

His Sixth Sense

** Happy Thanksgiving :) Early update for y'all.**

November 21st, 1963 (Four months before Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were killed in a car accident)

"Damn it to hell Darry, we shouldn't be here,"

"Don't I know it, kid brother. What a way to spend Thanksgiving break."

I bit my lip, and squinted through the dark, strangely hazy air. Darry and I were at a party that we should have known never to go to. Lenny Miller's house parties were always wild, full of alcohol, and drugs. But we had nothing else to do, and I heard that a girl I had recently met at school (her name was Sandy) would be there.

"Maybe we should have stayed with Pony," I said in Darry's ear as I turned down the fifteenth brownie. God knew that the ingredients weren't just chocolate. "He seemed pretty cut up that we left him."

Darry rubbed his chin, looking sorry. "Yeah, that wasn't too nice." He had to practically shout because of the loud music, and voices.

The two of us stood close together, surveying people dissappearing into rooms together, beer spilling, and smokes lighting up. We met eyes, and shook our heads.

"Let's get outta here."

"You said it, Sodapop. We can invite the boys over once we get home."

We tried to manuever ourselves out of the crazy, packed people. I got pushed roughly to the side, and nearly lost my footing; Darry caught me by the upper arm. Once we had spotted the door, I noticed two other things.

One, was there were police sirens in the distance. Two, there was an seventeen year old kid, completely passed out on the ground.

"The police are gonna bust this place," said Darry. "We've gotta move quick."

I looked back at the kid. "Think they'll arrest everyone here?" I asked.

Darry shrugged, pulling me along. "Probably. Anyone that doesn't get out in time. Walk faster Soda."

"No, wait," I pulled away from him. "This kid needs help."

I pushed through more people to get to him. Darry tried to pull me away.

"Soda!"

"Hold on, Darry. The cops'll get him. He wont even have a chance."

I knelt down, and Darry knelt next to me. His face looked exasperated. The sirens grew louder.

"Soda, we're gonna get busted."

I gingerly lifted the teenager's head and saw blood coming out of his nose. He must have snorted something.

"We can't leave him here," I said, supporting the guy in a sitting position. "He's unconcious. He needs help."

Darry whooshed air from his mouth in annoyance. But he grabbed the guy's legs anyways. "Let's take him to the car. Fast."

I quickly assisted him, by pulling up under the guy's arms. Darry walked backwards, and I forwards. Just as we pushed open the door, and got out to the car, the lights from the sirens could be seen.

Darry took the half I was carrying from me. "Open the door for me," he said, struggling to hold him alone. I flew it open and Darry carefully placed him in the back. "Quick, get in."

I ran around the side of the car, and ducked my head so I wouldn't hit the top. The lights illuminated the seats and steering wheel. Darry pressed the keys into the ignition.

When the car jerked backwards, the teenager finally started to wake up. I turned back in my seat to look at him as Darry turned the car sharply. We missed the police, but could still hear the sirens.

The guy tried to sit up, and rubbed the blood on his face. He looked at me. "What – what the hell?" his voice was slurred. "Where am I?"

Darry was focused on driving. "The cops busted the party," I explained. "You were passed out. So we took you with us."

He crossed his legs in the backseat, felt his nose, and looked at me like I had just said the most stupid thing in the entire world. "Why the hell would you do that?" His hair fell in his eyes. He kind of reminded me of Dally somehow.

I shrugged. "So you wouldn't be caught. I take it you aren't sorry?"

His face was incredibly bitter, and had a kind of smirk to it after I spoke. I had never seen the guy before. Usually I know at least the faces of the people that go to my school.

He leaned back, and didn't talk, so I asked, "What's your name?"

"Uh," He looked at his hands. "Uh, Park."

"Park?"

"I think so."

Darry risked turning his head back at 'Park'. "How're you feelin'?" he asked.

"Pretty lousy," said the teenager. "I'm not sure my name is Park."

Darry and I laughed. "No, I don't think it is either, kiddo," said Darry. "Why don't you lie back? Rest a little."

Park listened to Darry, and lied down on the seat. "He shutting his eyes?" Darry asked me, eyes back on the road.

I looked at Park, who seemed to be trying to sleep. "Yeah, he is."

Darry jiggled Park's knee. "Don't go to sleep, Park." He said loudly. "Stay awake until we take you home."

Park swatted his hand away. "I don't even know who you guys are. You could be murderers for all I know." He sounded tired and loopy.

Darry looked at me, and I raised my eyebrows. "We ain't murderers, Park," I said calmly. "My name's Sodapop Curtis, and this is my older brother, Darry."

"Hah, Sodapop?" Park grinned. Blood dripped from his nose down his face. "And Dairy? Dairy, like milk? Do your parents like – like drinks? You gotta sister named Juice?" he put his face in his hands and cracked up.

I couldn't keep from giggling too. "Boy, you're high as can be."

"Hell no I ain't. If I was high as I could be, I'd be dead." Park slurred.

"True that," said Darry, making another turn. "Now, do you think you could think straight enough to tell us where ya live, Park? We've got a little brother to get home to."

Park's face completely changed when Darry said that. Like he had been thrown back into reality. The clouded look went away from his eyes. They turned sharper, and almost heartbroken.

"Well, I sure as hell don't." he whispered.

"Don't what?" I asked.

He just shook his head. Then was able to tell us where he lived.

October 29th, 1964 (The day after Two-Bit saved Ponyboy from the Socs at school)

I was worried about Ponyboy. Ever since the day before's – well – I don't really know what to call it. Incident? I guess that's the right word. Ever since the day before's incident, I'd been wondering if maybe he was coming down with something.

When he came home from school, he went straight to the lot. And on the 29th, he was very quiet and surly, not talking much to me.

By the time it was about eight at night, Steve and Two-Bit came over. Ponyboy quietly stated that he was going to bed, and disappeared down the hallway. I frowned after him. It was a Friday night. Usually he didn't go to bed so early on a weekend, unless he was really tired. I turned around to see Two-Bit and Steve frowning just like I was.

Two-Bit was wringing his hands, giving me a sudden sense of deja vu. But I didn't really know when I had ever seen him do that before. He usually thought everything way too funny to look nervous and guilty.

"I've gotta tell you something," he said quietly.

I remembered. Last time Two-Bit needed to tell me something, it was when Pony was sick back when Dally and Johnny died.

I walked into the living room, gesturing for Two-Bit and Steve to follow me. Darry was in there, watching television in his chair. I sat on the couch, with Two-Bit right at my heels.

"Go on," I said, looking at him.

Two-Bit looked at Darry, then me. "I think something's wrong with Pony."

So he saw it too. "Yeah," I said wearily. "I know,"

Darry turned the volume down, and sat up straighter. "Wait, _you_ think so?" he asked, looking at Two-Bit. "What makes you think that?"

Two-Bit slouched further down into the couch. "Man, I saw some Socs messing him around yesterday in the hallway. They had him pinned against a locker."

I bit the inside of my mouth, furious. Steve and I met eyes. His cheeks were a reddish color.

Darry stared ahead. "I think he's not feeling good," he said. "His face looks flushed all the time, and he is always stumbling."

"And yesterday," I added quietly. "When he screamed at me. Or, someone – in his room – "

"What d'you mean, someone is his room?" asked Darry sharply.

I swallowed, and looked at Pony's closed door, making sure that he wasn't listening in. "I saw him yesterday, slamming his door shut, and screaming leave me alone, or something – "

"You think there – maybe could've been someone in there?" said Steve, scooting closer to us from his spot on the ground.

I shook my head. "They can't have been. I went in there, right after he stormed away. And there was no one there."

Steve shrugged his shoulders, and pulled out a pack of smokes, "Then it was in his head. He's got something going on up there."

"Shut up, Steve," said Darry, suddenly angry. "Just shut up. And don't smoke in the house."

Steve's cheeks got even redder. "The kid doesn't got any friends either. He doesn't talk to anyone. Just me and Two-Bit."

"Well then keep talking to him," snapped Darry. "Don't leave him in the dust."

"Glory Darry, we ain't gonna do that. Have a little faith." said Two-Bit, looking stung.

I surveyed the scene, not wanting anyone to fight, or be upset. So much had already been lost. I wished, that at our lowest point, we wouldn't have to go even lower.

"We'll look after him," said Steve. I cast him a slightly doubtful look. "I promise, Soda. He doesn't bother me as much as I let on."

"I don't see why he would bother you ever," I mumbled. Steve opened his mouth to speak, but I stood up. I'd just leave it at that. The last thing we needed was some big argument.

"I'm going to take a shower. See you guys in a minute," I nodded to Darry, and smiled halfway at Steve (who looked kind of crestfallen) and Two-Bit.

As I was moving down the hall I could hear Darry sigh and say, "You don't have to go home if you don't wanna Steve."

I bit my lip, and stopped by mine and Pony's door, before going to the bathroom. I would've gone in for a second, but stopped when I heard voices.

Or rather, one voice. Ponyboy's. Talking to – itself?

"Yeah, I know," he said.

Pause.

"Well, then how did you die?" Who died?!

Pause.

"Oh my gosh."

Pause.

"Gosh, I'm sorry."

Pause.

"No, you are."

Pause.

"Miss, you are dead. I promise."

Pause.

"Well, stop and look around. Why would you be in my room? Why would you have blood all over your face?" What the hell was going on?

Pause.

"Yes you do. You could look in my mirror if you'd like."

Pause.

"I'm sorry."

Pause.

"I really am."

Pause.

"I think – you've just been seeing what you want to see."

Pause.

"No. I've got two older brothers."

Pause.

"Yeah, I do. I love them a lot."

This needed to end, I told myself. I was sick of hearing him talk to himself. I knocked loudly on the door. Scrambling could be heard from the inside of the room.

"Who is it?" Pony called.

"Soda. Can I come in?"

"Yeah – yeah."

I carefully opened the door to find him in bed on his stomach with a ratty looking notepad in front of him. There was a pencil in his hand, and his hair was sticking up everywhere. I cast my eyes around the room, looking foolishly for anyone that he could have been talking to. There was no one, and nothing.

He looked slightly nervous of me. "Whatcha up to in here?" I asked.

Pony shook his head and looked down at his paper. "Nothing. Just writing out some ideas I've had."

The paper was blank. I sat down on our bed. "That it?"

His face went milk-colored, and he avoided my eyes. "Yeah, that's it."

I looked down at my hands at his short tone. Then I crawled next to him. "Scoot over,"

He looked exasperated. But he did as I asked. I put my arms around him, and my forehead close to his head. "You know, kiddo, you're my best friend."

"Steve's your best friend."

"No. Steve is my best buddy. Buddy and friend is different."

Pony rolled his eyes. "What's the difference?"

"Best buddy is so close that you're like brothers. Best friend is your brother, so you love them no matter what."

Pony didn't say anything. "I'd listen to anything you had to say. And I wouldn't care what it was. Because we're brothers."

He looked at me with big, colorful eyes. And I smiled. But then he said,

"You're a great brother Sodapop. And I promise, I tell you everything that goes on in my life."

Heat prickled up my back and to my neck, because I knew that he was lying. And Ponyboy usually was never a liar.


	6. His Sixth Sense

His Sixth Sense

** Longer than usual chapter. I've never written Soda POV, and I like it so far. He's an interesting little guy to write. Darry writing is doubtful of himself, Pony writing is nervous, and Soda writing is always trying to look on the bright side. At least, for me. **

** Thanks to all who review, and read. Anything you think, I wanna hear.**

October 29th, 1964 (at around 12:00 a.m.)

When I laid next to Pony in bed that night, all I could think was, _Pony is lying to me. He never lies to me – right? Right._

Right?

Yes. I was right.

Right?

Right.

Well – maybe.

Oh no.

The kid was always so quiet, and always listening to the world around him, that I actually had no idea what was going on in his head. Sometimes he would write stories, and I'd get a glimpse of the fact that he was a genius. But maybe he lied to me all the time, and never really told me anything at all. Maybe we weren't as close as I thought.

"Hey, Soda," he whispered suddenly.

"Glory, kid," I said, turning to face him in the dark. "Ain't you asleep?"

"I guess not. Ain't you?"

"Well – no, but – "

He cut me off. "I gotta ask you a question."

Okay, so he was opening up to me a little. Sorta. "Shoot."

"You'll be honest?"

"I'll be honest."

"Okay," he shifted a little. "D'you think I'm too old to need you sleeping in here?"

That wasn't what I was expecting. "No. I don't think that at all."

He tried again. "I'm fourteen. Nearly fifteen."

"You ain't nearly fifteen. Not even close."

"I'm at the halfway point – kind of."

"Whatever ya say, kiddo."

"And I'm your brother. Doesn't it bug you that your kid brother needs you sleeping in his room?" his voice sounded sad. Like a sad little kid that had just been put down, or made fun of.

"What're you trying to do? Convince me? I said what I think, and it's the truth. I'd do anything for you, Pony."

He was silent, hardly even breathing. I continued, "Did someone tell you that?"

"No." The answer was too fast.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Soda."

"I wont be mad, I just wanna know. Was it Darry?"

"He's the one that suggested it in the first place."

Cheeky kid. "Oh, yeah. Steve?"

"No. Soda, I already said – "

"Two-Bit? Someone at school?" Tell me about the Socs, Pony. Talk to me. Don't lie anymore.

"No one Sodapop. It was just my own thoughts."

"Oh," My face burned. I slung my arm over him. "You're a good kid Pony."

He snorted to himself. "Am I?"

"The very best."

He smiled. It was dark, so I couldn't really know for sure. But I could tell, somewhere in me, that he did.

"Thanks, Soda. Really – thanks."

"Anytime." Gosh I just loved the kid. He was so easy to make happy. If Darry ever praised him at all, he was thrilled. If Two-Bit said he wanted to hang out with him, he was thrilled. If I ever cooked him something, he was thrilled. If Steve called him a punk-ass kid, he'd grin. Even when something was eating at him, little things could still make him happy.

A couple of minutes later, he was (pretending to be?) asleep.

O

October 30th, 1964

The next morning, I didn't have to go into work until noon. So while Ponyboy was at school, I did a little detective work.

I remembered my thoughts the night before, about occasionally knowing what went on in Pony's head when I'd read one of his stories. Well, I knew that he kept notebooks, and papers full of words that he had thought up. I just needed to find one of them. And then maybe I could get a gist of what he was feeling.

Maybe it was wrong to go rifling through his stuff, but I really had a terrible pit in my stomach about him. If he wasn't going to tell me anything, then I would have to be annoying and find out for myself.

His desk was pressed against the wall, and cluttered with all kinds of papers, and pencils, and books. I picked up one book called, _The Winter's Tale_. It was by Shakespeare, and looked boring as hell.

I rifled through the papers on top, and recognized the small, Ponyboy-ish handwriting. The words looked purely like school notes, but I guessed that he wouldn't keep any special stories on the top of his desk. The drawers on the front were slightly open already, so I went through those finding notebooks upon notebooks. One seemed to be full of nothing but drawings, which were actually pretty good. I spread the notebooks out in front of me, having over an hour to look through them. And then in the back of the bottom drawer, in the very corner I saw a medium-sized, white envelope. I squinted my eyes, and drew it out. When I ripped open the seal, dozens of little papers fell out; they were filled to the capacity with squished words.

"Hell," I said quietly to myself. "I could be Sherlock Holmes, finding secret note cards and shit." Then I laughed a little bit to myself. When ever I talk aloud all alone, I always find it kinda funny. Because everyone thinks they're funny in their own way, and when there isn't anyone around to judge your words, you're even funnier.

But the words on the paper knocked the humorous mood right out of me. They weren't neat at all; almost like Ponyboy wrote them out of desperation.

_I'm in school,_ One of them said in a mad scrawl. _And I see a man in his mid-thirties in the corner. This is the third one I've seen today, and it's only noon. He is scratching the walls; like he is trying to get out. So far, he hasn't approached me, which is a plus. It's always very difficult to ignore them at school._

My mouth felt drier than usual. It was just some kind of story, I told myself. He was just writing a draft for a book. Another said;

_Today, one said my name. This frightened me more than usual because I like to think that they __don't know me. But maybe they do. It was an older woman, and she came right up to me saying, "Hello Ponyboy. Have you been a good boy today?" I was so surprised and frightened that I didn't know what to say. And I knew she was dead because she approached me while I was in bed with Soda. _

In bed with Soda. With me. He was writing about something that had happened with me there. Did I not see it? Was I the only one that couldn't – or was he the only one that could?

_Today was harder than usual. Dallas and Johnny's funeral was just last week. And I'm just so used to having them around all the time. So today, when I came home, I could just see the backs of their heads, because they were sitting on my couch. "Hey Dally," I said. "Hey Johnny." They didn't turn around, or say anything to me. I stopped in my tracks, and waited for a second. Then it dawned on me. That they weren't really there. And maybe it would be nice to see them, and talk to them again. But it actually scared the living hell out of me. _

Dear God. I buried my face in my hands for a moment.

_Today as I was getting ready for school, there was a guy sitting on my bed. He seemed to be about twenty, and looked incredibly hateful. He leered at me and said, "Ain't you a little old to be sleeping with your brother?" I just stared at him. Usually I don't talk back to the angry ones. He continued and said, "It's pathetic. You're a bother. He probably hates you for it. I know I would." I tried my best to ignore him, but maybe he knows something I don't. I'll ask Soda about it tonight, just to be sure._

That's why he had asked. They were horrific to read, but there were just so many, that I couldn't quit. I lifted another to my eyes.

_It's getting harder to tell them apart from normal people. Sometimes I think they are just regular, and alive. Like today, I was talking to this pretty girl, that seemed to be my exact age. I just saw her sitting on the curb where I usually sit while Two-Bit pulls around the car to pick me up. I sat next to her, and we were having a perfectly normal conversation. When Two-Bit came by with the car, I said goodbye to her and got in the car. He looked at me, with a joking look on his face. "Who were you talking to, kid?" He asked, amused. "Your imaginary friend? Or a ghost?" I looked out of the window to show him the girl, but when I saw her, there was a thick gash across her throat that was streaming blood. I swear, that wasn't there while we were talking. Two-Bit was right on the money with who I was talking to. _

I wanted to hyperventilate. A girl. Talking to my brother. A ghost girl that was dead. Deaddeaddeaddead. A dead person. I was so afraid, that tears started to fill my eyes. All the note cards where like that. They told stories of people that my brother had seen, in every place imaginable. In the shower, at the dinner table, while he was in class, while he was in the car, at night, while Darry and I were at work, while I sat with him on the couch, and watched television with him. Another one caught my eye;

_I feel better when I write out the things I see. I really don't know why – maybe it just makes me feel less insane. Because I know I am insane, or did something wrong maybe. Maybe – maybe – I don't know. I don't know why this has happened to me. I can feel it though. When they come, it feels colder, and there is a pit in my stomach. I look at everyone that is a stranger, and examine their words and features to see if they are alive or dead. It's like I have a sixth sense._

A sixth sense. This was it. He saw dead people, walking around like normal people; he talked to them, and they frightened him. They knew his name.

His sixth sense.

O

I put all of Pony's stuff back exactly how I found it, went to work, had an uneventful day, and didn't get home until ten after nine. All I wanted to do was see Pony. But when I got home, he wasn't there.

Darry was asleep on the couch. He looked so exhausted.

"Hey, Darry," I whispered, shaking him awake. "Hey, Darry, wake up." He opened his eyes blearily. I felt like a jerk.

"Yeah Soda?" he asked, stretching a little. "What's up, little buddy?"

I crouched beside him. "Is Pony here?"

He shook his head, yawning. "Nah, but he left a note on the counter, so he's good. As long as he comes home when he said he would."

I made for the kitchen, and spied the piece of paper on the counter;

_Going to the library with my friend Parker. He got the car for the day, so he'll get me home by a quarter to ten._

_ -Pony_

His writing looked normal. Nothing like it did on the note cards. I breathed a little easier, but was confused by the name of Parker. I had never heard of, or met that kid in all my life.

"You know who Parker is, Darry?" I wondered, coming back out of the kitchen. He was sitting up on the couch now, and shook his head.

"No, I haven't. Good to know he actually has a friend though."

I frowned. "But we don't know him. What if he's – he's a killer or something?"

Darry rolled his eyes. "I doubt he is a bad kid. If they're at the library, it can't be that big of a deal."

I nodded, rubbing the back of my head. My insides were writhing. Darry noticed.

"Something up, Soda?" he asked, leaning forward. I shook my head quickly.

"Oh – no."

I didn't sound believable; I could see it on Darry's face. He got up from the couch with a sigh, and said as he strode past me, "You know, I'm getting a bit sick of both my brothers never telling me anything. I ask Pony what's up, he just stares at his hands. I ask you what's up, and you lie."

That stung. I always tried never to lie. But I was, and I knew it.

"I'm sorry, Darry."

"Well, are you gonna – "

The two of us stopped talking when the door opened. Pony stopped in his tracks when he saw Darry and I, probably looking like we were conversing about something serious.

He glanced at the clock by the television. "It's nine twenty-five. I'm not late, I said – "

"No, no, you're fine kiddo," said Darry, rubbing his face. "Soda and I were just – "

"Who's Parker?" I asked Pony quickly. He caught my save, but didn't say anything about it.

He shrugged. "Just my friend. Said he met you once, at a party or something."

Darry frowned. "I don't remember that,"

"Yeah, he doesn't really remember it either."

The three of us stood in the living room. There was an awkward silence, which I found unsettling. I mean, the three of us aren't exactly the most perfect, sensitive brothers in the entire world; but I like to think that we have a good enough relationship. Usually there is always something to talk about. All the secrets that were in the house caused us to just wanna keep our mouths shut.

Darry looked annoyed, and said, "Well, I'm gonna get to bed. You two need anything?" He looked from one of us to the other. Pony and I met eyes, and shook our heads simultaneously. My oldest brother looked even more annoyed. He walked away, massaging his temple.

I didn't want Pony and I to cause Darry any more grief. He was already stressed with his job, and keeping the state away.

The stiff silence between Pony and I was interrupted when he made a little gasp. I titled my head, and tried to catch his eye. He was looking, with huge, fearful eyes, at the kitchen window. And finally, I understood.

"What is it?" I asked him quickly. Maybe he would tell me himself.

He gulped, and looked sick. "Nothing – I just – "

I looked back at the window. There was nothing there. "You just what?"

"Just – thought – "

"Did you see something?" If I would have thought before I spoke, I would've said that maybe a little later.

"Well, I tho-wait." His eyes snapped to me, suspicious. "What did you say?"

Glory, did his face change from afraid to furious fast. I licked my lips. "I asked if you saw something." This was it. The secret was gonna be out.

"And why would you ask that?" he whispered, deadly.

I opened my mouth but he had already pushed past me, towards our room. "Pony, wait," I called after him. But he walked away without a word.

I was shaking, and slowly, slowly followed him. I could hear drawers being ripped open from inside our room. When I peeked my head carefully inside, I saw him crouched by the bottom drawer with it almost falling out. He removed the white envelope with trembling hands, and saw that it had been carelessly ripped open, and all the papers were stuffed back inside. His mouth dropped in terrified horror, and I could see his face reddening. In an instant, he snapped his eyes to mine, which were still half in the room, and half outside. He was biting his bottom lip so hard that it went white.

Ponyboy knew that I knew. He knew that I had sneaked around, and invaded his privacy. His desk was his own; Darry and I understood that.

"Pony," I said mournfully, pushing open the door further. He jumped up and caught the door with his hand, keeping me from coming in.

"This isn't your room," he spat. I stared at him, stunned. "If you wanna go to bed, go in your own room."

A painful, numb feeling settled in me. He never acted like that. Never, ever. At least, not with me. Pony and I always were friends, and always worked things out before the fight could even begin. He was able to accept everything I did, and I was able to accept everything that he did. We had been like that for as long as I could remember. When I dropped out of school, Pony was upset, and I knew it. But he just quietly disapproved, and we went on. When Pony would snap at Steve, or me, or – practically everyone I would give an excuse in my mind why he did it.

"Come on kid," I said in a choked voice. He couldn't really be that upset, I told myself. "Don't shut me out."

He looked for a second that he was going to just not respond. But then he did. By slamming his door in my face.


	7. Conversations in the Gutter

His Sixth Sense

** Thanks to all reviewers. You're beautiful people.**

** Back to Pony for this chapter. Kind of sad themes. **

October 30th, 1964 (Around midnight)

First I fumed, then I hated my brother, then I was frustrated, then I thought, then I felt like a jerk, then I realized how alone I was, and then I hated myself.

And once that emotion came, I had to swallow tears.

There was no way I could get to sleep. And when a familiar, cold, prickling sensation came to the back of my neck, I knew I needed to get out. Because that was the feeling I got when one of _them_ was on its way, or somewhere there already.

I made for my window, not thinking clearly. All I really knew was that I felt trapped in my mind, and trapped in the suffocating house. When it was opened, the freezing night air felt surprisingly good.

While I was lowering myself from the window to the ground, I caught a glimpse of a shadow in my room. I pushed away from the sill and sprinted down the sidewalk, slowed, and walked backwards, keeping an eye on my house. It looked dark and sad.

Icy breath ran down my throat as I walked. There was no moon, or stars, and some of the street lamps were even out. It seemed as if everything, outside me and inside me would always be dark and cold. Foggy air came from my mouth.

Once I was a good amount of blocks away from my house, I turned and stood on the edge of the curb. The front of my feet hung off. In a daze, I stared down at the black of the road, thinking that the pebbles that made up a street looked like sharp diamonds covered in coal. My mind felt painfully fuzzy.

A sudden, blinding light hit my face to the right. I looked, and saw a car speeding down the road almost right in front of me. I told myself that I only wanted to see who was in the car. That's why I was stepping off the curb. My feet carried me further out into the street. But I would never purposely step in front of a car, I rationalized. Darry would never forgive me if I stepped in front of a car. I couldn't do that to him, after everything that he had done for me.

And as the thought of Darry came to my mind, and Sodapop, and my beautiful parents, and Two-Bit always cheering me up, and Steve helping me even when I bothered him, I realized that I was seconds away from killing myself. And I didn't want it to happen, at all. The yellow headlights were almost right on top of me. There was no way the driver could ever see me. He was going too fast, and everything was too dark.

I gasped and felt life going at lightening speed. A sharp, sick pain hit my shoulder, like metal grinding into bone. I heard the blaring honk of a horn, and heated curse words being called to me. I fell to the ground, and there was another pain in my hip, and knee. The ground was hard.

Something strong shook me. I blinked in astonishment, and tried to twist my body. The pain wasn't even that bad. Maybe that meant I was already dead.

"Kid? Kid, stop it. You're scaring me." The voice sounded frantic. Two-Bit? Steve? Normally when my brothers were frantic, they didn't call me kid.

My voice sounded young. "Am I dead?" The car, which was a red truck with a huge scratch on the side, continued to speed down the street.

I was pulled across the road, and forced to lean against something sturdy, and void of warmth. But whatever it was contained safety, and strength, so I let my head fall back.

My hair was smoothed. Soda maybe? "Kid, are you okay? Ponyboy!"

I licked my lips. "Am I dead?"

"No, you aren't. I just told you that."

"Oh." I raised a shaking hand up and felt nothing but air. "Where is anything?"

Another hand wrapped around mine. "I'm here, kid."

I looked up, and saw in my swimming vision Parker Robison. He was letting me lean against him. He was assuring me that he was there. He had pulled me out of the way of the car, and saved my stupid life.

I smiled very slightly. "Hey, Parker."

He looked like he couldn't believe me. I pulled away from him, sitting up on my own. Even sitting, I swayed. He put his hand on my shoulder. "You with me, kid?"

"Yeah – " I sucked in a gasp. "I'm with you." I flew my hand up to my aching shoulder. "Ouch – I – got, I got hit –"

"No you didn't. I grabbed your shoulder to pull you out of the way, and we hit the pavement."

I rubbed my knee as well. "It doesn't hurt too bad."

He narrowed his eyes. "Then what the hell, Ponyboy? What the hell? What're you doin' trying to kill yourself?"

"I didn't mean to – I didn't want to – " I couldn't speak right. I felt drunk. "I didn't wanna do it."

"Don't be thinking I'm stupid, Ponyboy. I saw you step off the curb. I saw you walk right out into the street." he sounded genuinely furious. The same voice he used when he talked about his brother's murder. "What. The. Fuc – "

Everything crashed down on me, and with Soda's recent eavesdropping, I snapped slightly. "I don't know, Parker, I don't know!" My loud voice echoed in the street. "I felt numb, and once I was there, I didn't wanna do it anymore. I don't wanna do _anything_ anymore!" There was something warm on my face. Parker stared at me, stricken.

"Did you have a rough day?" he asked softly. "Did you see a lot today?"

I didn't want him to talk all soft. I wanted him to tell me that I was a freak, and have that careless, bitter look in his eye like Dallas always did. "It's always rough," I said, pulling my knees up to my chest. "It's too much, Parker,"

"Come on, kid. Don't say that."

"Soda knows, Parker." Sobs racked up my throat. "My brother, Soda found out. He knows – he knows – " I buried my face in my hands, and shook.

Parker coughed slightly. "You told me, kid. Why can't your own brother know?"

"Because," I said into my hands. "He'll think I'm crazy. He'll think it's because I'm messed around in the head. And then, he will tell Darry," I pulled my face up, and literally started to lose my control. Every syllable shook with anguish. "A-and I _can't_ have Darry know – ever. That's the one thing Darry hates more than anything. When someone is mentally messed up. He can deal with anything physical, but not mental. He just hates it. And when – when Soda tells him – " I couldn't breathe. Parker put his other hand on my shoulder.

"Ponyboy, calm down – "

"When Soda tells him – he will hate me too."

"Ponyboy, listen – "

"He'll hate me even more than he did before. They'll think I'm a freak."

"Pony, you're not – "

"And Steve," I cried. "Steve will finally have an excuse. Two-Bit hates basket cases. He won't want nothing to do with me – "

Parker shook me; hard. The shaking hurt. "Ponyboy! Shut up, will ya? None of that is true!"

I looked at him with wide eyes. "But, Parker, listen – "

"No, you listen, kid. Take a breath," he ordered. I breathed in through my nose deeply. Parker nodded. "Good. Now, your brothers wont hate you. I swear to God, they wont hate you."

"But how would you – "

"Just shut up for a second Curtis, and hear me out. You don't have a little brother, so you don't understand. They look to you. They think you're great. Come on, name something they've done for you. Right now."

I glared at him from my spot in the street. He had pulled us back far enough so that he was resting his back against the curb, and was sitting in the gutter. "Well,"

"Wait," he said, interrupting me. "Come out of the street. No more car fun for you."

"And do what?" I asked, scooting towards him. "Sit in the gutter like you?"

"Ain't no one ever get run over in the gutter, kid. Now come on, something."

"What's this gonna do, Parker?"

"You'll see."

I let out a breath. There was more white fog. "Well – the biggest thing I guess is Darry. He had everything going for him. He was a football star, and had a scholarship to college. He was doing real well in his courses when my folks died. Then he dropped out – to take care of Soda and I."

"Glory," said Parker, shaking his head. "What a guy."

"Yeah, I know."

"Go on. Another."

"Sodapop. He sleeps – slept – whatever, in my room because I get nightmares. And I'm pretty sure he'd rather sleep in his own room."

"I'll bet he don't care. Another. Just keep going."

"Sodapop read my school theme, and he hates reading. Darry took me to a movie once, and he hates movies. Um – Soda makes me dinner, and breakfast all the time," Strange, it was making me feel better. "Darry carried me in the house after I got home from Windrixville. Darry and Soda didn't sleep at all when I ran away, or when I was in the hospital," Parker looked like he had a million questions, but I went on. "Soda works at the DX, earning money so I can be happier. Darry and Soda saved me from getting beat up – but so did the rest of the gang too – "

"They wanted to get home to you," said Parker suddenly. "I remember. When they helped me out that one night. They said that they had a little brother to get home to."

I stared at him. "When was that?"

"Last year sometime."

"Oh." I didn't know what he was talking about. He looked freezing, and I started to really feel it too. "What did you do for your brother, Parker?"

His eyes darkened even further with hate and sadness. "Obviously not enough."

I stared at him imploringly, feeling so bad that he harbored such a guilt. He looked down at me, and turned up the corner of his mouth a little bit. We sat there in silence for a little bit, not needing to talk, but only to think in our own minds. Every now and again a car would whoosh by, looking at us like we were crazy.

"Well," said Parker with a sigh. "Are you as freezing as I am, kid?"

I rubbed my hands over my bare arms. "Pretty damn freezing, yeah."

"Did ya know that you're just wearing pajamas?"

I looked down, and saw that I had only socks on. "No shoes either."

"You're crazy kid."

"Yeah," I pushed my legs forward so that my back could be against the curb, and torso was in the gutter. I placed my face on the concrete. "Maybe I'll just sleep here tonight."

Parker stood up, and bent backwards a little, stretching. "Hell no you ain't sleeping in the gutter, kid. Come on," he held out a hand to me. "I'll take you home."

I took his hand, but he didn't really pull me up much. It looked like he tried. "Where are you gonna go, Parker?"

He rubbed the back of his head. "I don't really know," his eyebrows creased. "My house is locked. I can't get any of the doors open. And I rang the bell, but no one answered." The hurt in his voice was very prominent.

Ouch, that got me right in the gut. At least I was allowed in the house. "Well, it's cold out. You can stay at my place."

"No, Ponyboy."

"Why not?"

"Cause that's weird."

"How is it weird? My friends Two-Bit and Steve practically live at my house."

Parker crossed his arms, and looked up at the sky. "Okay, but we can't wake your brothers."

I started walking down the sidewalk. "I wasn't planning on it."

O

"Damn, it was easier to jump out of the window that to crawl back inside."

"You guys only have one story. Why are your bedroom windows so high up?"

"I dunno. My house is freaking old, man."

I grasped the sill of my window, which was high enough that only my forehead reached it. Parker laughed quietly.

"It's cause you don't have any upper arm strength," he said, teasing. I glared. "And you're short."

My face burned. "Damn you Parker, I know I'm short." The boys constantly letting me know that my growth spurt was late proved that. I laced my finger around, and used the side of the house to climb up. My knee went up onto the sill, and I plowed into the ground of my bedroom. The pain in my elbow told me that I had hit my funny bone.

I peeked out of the window. "Okay, come on – whoa!" I flew to the side as Parker used one foot to leap up against the side of the house, and vault through the window. "You're fast!"

Parker stood up and brushed himself off. "Yeah, well I don't sit and stare at a window for twenty minutes. I just jump."

"I did not – "

"Keep your voice down."

"Keep _your_ voice down. This is my house."

Parker rolled his eyes. "So where do I go, since you're the boss?"

I cast my eyes around my room, stopped them briefly on my desk, where nearly every single paper was thrown out in my mad search. Then I shrugged. "Anywhere you want, I guess."

"Do you have a couch?"

"Yeah."

"I'll go there. You go to bed."

I nodded, sleepy, but feeling anxious about having Parker in my house, unknown to my brothers. "It's out this door, to the left," I whispered. "Be quiet."

"I got you kid. Hey, will your brother shoot me in the morning when he sees me sleeping on your couch?"

I laughed quietly. "We've got people sleeping on the couch all the time. Darry don't mind."

"Shit," said Parker. "Good deal to me."

O

October 31st, 1964

I woke up at around 6:30 am on Halloween, having gotten about three hours of sleep. And I could've slept in, since it was a Saturday. But I had a friend in my living room to worry about, so I got out of bed, and opened my door slowly.

The door to the kitchen was shut, but I could hear someone, most likely Darry, in there cooking something. I continued to the living room, and saw Parker sitting up on the couch, rubbing his face.

"You're up early," I told him. He pulled his hands away so he could see me.

"Yeah, I figured I'd better get up. Not overstay my welcome."

"Shoot you're fine here. You did save my life last night, remember?"

I went and sat on the couch. Parker stretched his legs out in front of him. "Yeah, I remember, you punk. Let's not have a repeat of that."

"I'll do my – " I stopped when the kitchen door opened. Darry came out, looking tense and stressful. He caught sight of me on the couch.

"Who're you talking to, Pony?" he asked, looking where Parker sat. I glanced at Parker.

"Oh, yeah, this is Parker Robison. My friend." I said, slightly nervous. Maybe Darry was going to get mad after all. But he just looked at Parker, and shrugged.

"You're a weird kid, Pony. Honestly. I don't know what's going on with you."

Parker and I looked at each other, bemused. Then Darry said, "Nice to meet you, Parker."

"Nice to meet you too," said Parker, squinting his eyes.

Darry started to walk back into the kitchen, "I've gotta get to work early today kiddo," he told me. "But when I get back, we're gonna talk."

My stomach plummeted. "Aw, Darry,"

He put his hand up. "No. Don't argue. I know something went on with you and Soda last night, and it's the last straw. I'm sick of being out of the loop."

I groaned, and turned away from him on the couch. He stood there for a second or two more, and then went back into the kitchen. Parker whistled low.

"Whoa. That was – that was off."

I looked at him, agreeing. "Yeah, it kinda was."

"He really don't care that I'm here, does he?"

"Well," I said, contradicting my own self. "I thought he'd care a little more than that."

"I thought he'd remember me."

"Yeah – so did I."

The two of us looked at each other for a second, and then Parker said that he should probably get going. I just nodded mutely, lost in thoughts, and dread of Darry talking to Sodapop and I after work. I guess Halloween was no excuse to put that off in Darry's eyes. Parker patted me on the shoulder, and started to walk out the door.

"Bye Parker," I said quietly. I don't think he heard me. Once he was gone, despite me slightly wishing that he would stay, and hearing Soda start to get up, and the winds blaring against the house, and my miserable day ahead of me; I felt slightly warmer.


	8. A Fear Confirmed

**Thanks for all reviews. I love hearing what you guys think.**

**I hope you guys feel the chaos in this chapter. Because it is chaos.**

His Sixth Sense

August 21st, 1964 (about a month before Johnny and Dallas died)

"Hey, Soda," I whispered through the dark. He rustled in the blankets, and turned towards me.

"Yeah, Pony?" He whispered back. I bit my lip, nervous at first to ask the question, but really just wanting to get it off my chest. Even five months after my parents being killed, it still felt incredibly fresh, and consumed most of my heart. That, added to my newly terrifying sixth sense was enough to produce some troubling thoughts.

Soda nudged me while I was in my daze. "What is it?"

I took a breath. "What happens to people when they die?"

Soda didn't talk for a few seconds, and I knew he was thinking frantically of the correct thing to say. "You've gone to church, Pony. They go to heaven, you know that."

I thought of all the times I'd gone to church. Sometimes the preacher said things that I really didn't understand, or agree with. But I still, and always will believe in God. But what kind of God was he? Were men somehow confused by the sayings in the Bible? My memories, while I was in my darkened room with my brother, flew back to the day of my parent's funeral. The pastor there was chanting dully; _"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me –" _over my parent's coffins. And a bitter kind of thing rose inside me, because I didn't get it. Who was He with? Was He with me? My parents? Was He with people, only as they walked through that shadow?

"Well," I contradicted. "What if they don't?"

Soda threw an arm over my neck. "Some don't. But mom and dad are, if that's what you're wondering."

I fought the urge to laugh out loud, because it was one of those rare occasions where Soda was wrong about my thoughts. Usually he could read me well enough. But on that night, I wasn't thinking about if my parents deserved the glory of heaven. Because they did; that was already factual to me. No; I was thinking about the people that stayed behind after they died. The people that I had started seeing on a daily basis.

"Do you – do you think sometimes they can't get to heaven?"

"I don't have all the answers," said Soda, tightening his arm. "But I know there's a God, and I know he's just. I think that's all that really matters in this lifetime. Cause no one – no matter how much they pretend – has all the answers."

I smiled through the dark. Pieces of advice like that are why Sodapop is one of my favorite people in the whole world.

"Thanks Soda. Love you."

"Love you too ba-aby. Night."

October 31st, 1964 (an hour after Darry left for work)

I snuggled into the worn-down couch, waiting for the sounds of Soda waking up to leave for work. Maybe, he would just ignore me squished into the cushions, and pretending to watch television. Because I really didn't know what my emotions were going to be like if he tried to talk to me face to face. I started to hear him open and shut different doors, getting ready. I wondered if he went into my room to get some of the clothes that he kept in there.

My brother then moved into the kitchen, poured out cereal, and opened the fridge for milk. I kept my eyes glued to the screen. I don't even remember what had been on.

Soda slid by his socks through the kitchen door, dressed in his DX uniform. I turned my head away quickly from him. His face looked troubled.

He didn't say anything; didn't really make any noise at all. He just walked, very slowly over to me while my body was sort of seized up as if he was going to hit me. I felt one hand on my head, and flinched. Soda ran his thumb over my hair, and bent down to my ear.

"See you when I get home, kiddo." he said softly. I said nothing back.

Standing up straight, my brother then turned and walked out the door. And I loathed him for being in the right.

O

My visions were so bad after both my brothers left, that in desperation, I looked up the Robison family in the phone book to call Parker. There were quite a few Robisons, so I just chose the one that lived closest to my house.

A lady's voice answered. "Hello?

"Um – hi. Is Parker Robison there?"

There was a shivering second of silence. Then the girl said, "Very funny." and hung up. I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked at it, stunned. I thought that maybe it was the wrong number, and the girl had been having a rough day.

Most of the ghosts had just been walking around my house with some sort of mark that they were dead. Like one little girl looked fine, but then when she turned around, her back was covered in blood. I came out of the kitchen after my phone call, cast a wary look from side to side, and sat carefully on the couch. I wished that Two-Bit, Parker, or anyone living would come over. For hours they just past by while I hung onto the couch; some crying rather softly, and some not making any noise at all.

The cushion next to me indented, as if someone had just sat down. I looked to the side, and screamed out loud, theatrically falling off of the couch.

I think he smiled at me. I couldn't tell because his face was so destroyed. The mouth was shredded and bleeding horribly. One eye was swollen shut, and the other was no longer white. His cheeks, to his eyebrows were shredded as well. Flesh hung off of his arms and legs. Redness flew down his neck. I shut my eyes, feeling sick. They usually aren't _that_ gruesome.

He looked down at his ruined body. "This is odd," he said, strangely normal. "I'm all beat up, but don't really feel any pain."

I opened my eyes, and nodded slowly. He turned his head to the side. "You wouldn't know what's going on – would you?" he asked me.

God, I hated telling them that they were dead. It was just so odd – how did they somehow find me? Was I the one that sent them on? Or maybe there was just something seriously the matter with me. "You – you're dead," I said quietly. He looked stunned. "What's the last thing you remember? What happened?"

He looked off into space. "I was driving with my two kids," realization started coming to him. "We were – we were driving – and a car ran a red light, right while I was in the intersection. I remember it coming right for my door."

I looked at him with pity, even though he frightened me. "You aren't alive, sir. I'm sorry."

He looked at me quickly. "Are you alive?"

"No, I am."

"Then how do you see me – if I'm dead?"

I shrugged. "I'd like to know that myself."

He gave me a crooked grimace, and stood up. I was still on the ground. "I'll help you out, kid. I'll go find out for you." And he walked out my door. I never saw him again.

I stayed stuck to the ground, my heart thumping. The clock said 6:37 p.m. That meant Darry and Soda should be home soon. A sudden, engulfing coldness hit me from the back. It was so cold, that I could see my breath. Loud footsteps sounded behind me.

"So help me God," I moaned, putting my face in my hands, and gripping my hair. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

I stayed there for a couple of seconds, and could hear someone's breathing. I didn't want to ever come out of my hands, and see what my eyes were going to show me.

When I lifted my face up again, I jumped backwards once more, complete with a, "Holy shit!"

It was another man – but so different from the one before. This one looked seemingly un-hurt, and had a dark gleam in his eye. His teeth were yellow, and his hair was cropped very short. Possibly in his mid-fifties with a long scar across his cheek. I didn't like him at all. He gave me a pit in my stomach.

His face was inches from my face, and he was squatted down on the ground by me. I breathed very heavily.

He cackled. "So they finally did it," he said, leaning back on one hand. "On death row for eight years, and they finally did it."

I couldn't speak. My hands shook. He saw that, and laughed again. I hated his laugh. "Do you wanna know what I did?"

"No," I nearly whispered, my throat clogged. "No, I don't."

"Well, you don't – hey!" He looked angry when I scrambled to my feet, and ran out of the living room. I walked backwards, inching for the door. "Come here, kid. I'm gonna educate you in the ways of professional rape and murder."

I hated myself for it, but hot tears rose up in my eyes. A lump of pure panic rose in my throat. "You crying, kid? Oh no, no – we'll have to stamp that out of you right away." He moved closer.

_He can't touch you, he can't touch you, he can't touch you._ I told myself over and over, trying not to lose my head completely. But it didn't really help much. I don't think when people are afraid of someone, all the fear goes to them not wanting to be hurt. I think the main fear is being in the presence of evil.

"Come here, kid. Let's talk." His voice was like a hiss. I backed away further.

"Please leave me alone."

"Come here."

"No."

His face twisted. "COME HERE!"

My front door slammed open, and in a sudden spasm of anxiety, I whirled around. Steve Randle was walking through the door, and caught sight of me. I don't think I've ever been happier to see him. And I did the same exact thing I did to Darry months ago when one of the dead terrified me to the extent of my mind being at the end of its tolerance. I launched myself at Steve, and wrapped my arms around him; thinking of nothing but wanting to be near to one of the living.

"Pony – what the – ?"

"Your buddy can't protect you little boy," The dead prisoner seethed. "You can still hear me."

I buried my face in Steve's side. Something in the back of my mind told me that I was going to have a lot of explaining to do later, due to the way I was acting. But the prisoner was just so creepy, and his eyes were so sunken, and his face so gray, that I couldn't help myself.

The man stood right by me. "Well, it all started when my _own_ father – "

I tried to cut out his words, but he spoke loudly. I tightened my arms. Steve was saying something to me, but it's difficult to listen when two people are talking at once. "Please help me," I cried senselessly. "Please help me, Steve."

Steve put his arm around my shoulders, and seemed to jolt me. "Help you how?! Shit, Ponyboy – what's wrong?"

"And then I put _that_ girl in my trunk, and took her back to the house – in the basement – "

"Steve – please, please – help me – "

"I tied her hands – "

"Kid, I – "

"And boy, was she _sobbing_ – "

"I know you hate me Steve, and I'm sorry – but please – "

"I grabbed the most jagged knife on my tool bench – "

"Kid, I don't – "

" – that part felt good, let me tell you. The best I've ever – "

The cold was unbearable, stifling. I was making a mixture of sobs, and gasps. My eyes were shut, not wanting to see the prisoner. Every word – every _letter_ he uttered dripped with venom and shadow. I literally could not take it.

" – on! Ponyboy, tell me what to do!"

" – I dragged her by the arm – "

A car door slammed.

" – there was blood, pouring from – "

Two, extremely familiar voices from outside.

" – I got this plastic bag – "

Someone was turning the door knob. I think I screamed someone's name. Loud.

" – then I took my knife again, and cut up – "

I opened my eyes and saw my two brothers coming in through the door. Soda was behind Darry, who rushed over to me right when he saw the scene. I could tell that Soda could understand slightly, and was registering the cold, and my behavior.

Strong hands on my shoulders. "Ponyboy, kiddo, what's going on?"

"Darry, man, I don't know – I came in and he just – "

My head was spinning.

"Come here, Pony. Let go of Steve, and come here."

People kept ordering me around. My middle felt numb.

" – he's got no color – "

I couldn't breathe.

"And the best thing is – " I felt my body convulse in a jump at the raspy voice. "Because of your special little gift, you'll become crazy just like me. In a few years, you'll be reenacting this story. You'll be the murderer."

It was that statement that really hit me right in the gut. Something in me shut down, taking two legs out from supporting my weight. I didn't even stay conscious long enough to tell if anyone caught me.


	9. The Secret

**Sorry about the longer than usual wait. I just recently started, and got hooked to the TV show _Supernatural_. That's taking up most of my free time. Excuses, excuses.**

**Also, I would just like it to be known that this story is purely themed in overcoming death, loving your family, and learning to live even in grief. Ponyboy is still as pure-hearted as ever. **

**Anyways, happy reading. **

His Sixth Sense

I launched myself forward instinctively, and reached my arms out to catch my youngest brother before he could hit the floor. His body was shaking in slight convulsions, and his shut eyelids flickered. My hand went behind his head, and my other arm went over his chest, shaking the opposite shoulder.

"Pony?" I demanded. "Ponyboy, wake up."

I could feel Sodapop crouch down beside me. Steve's footsteps echoed as he paced. After a few more seconds of staring anxiously into Pony's milky face, I said calmly, "Steve, call an ambulance."

"Gotcha Darry," he said quickly, grasping my shoulder briefly. I breathed in deeply and pushed the hair from Pony's face. My eyes met Soda's.

Sodapop's mouth opened and closed. He looked from my eyes around the room, terrified. "Darry," his voice shook. "Darry – Darry I think – " He trailed off.

Although I wanted to scream, shake Pony like a madman, kick the walls, or maybe even succumb to tears, I forced my emotions inside and kept my face straight. "I don't know, Soda. We'll take him to the doctor. Don't worry."

He chewed on his lower lip and shook his head. "No Darry, that's not it. I think I have the gist of what happened. I've been keeping something from you."

I looked away from Ponyboy's face again, and squinted my eyes at Soda. "What is –?"

But just then, Steve came back in from the kitchen, his eyes bright. "They're on their way guys." I could see his adam's apple when he swallowed. Soda avoided my glance, clearly no longer wanting to tell what was on his mind.

The room was freezing.

O

"Are you Darrel Curtis?"

I looked up at the voice addressing me. It was a middle-aged doctor with graying hair. Rubbing my hand over my cropped hair, I answered, "Yes."

He twitched the corner of his mouth in a fake smile and sat in the plastic white chair next to me. Soda and Steve, who were slumped against the wall closest to the waiting room door, made eye contact with me when they saw the doctor. I shook my head slightly at the two when they started to get up. I wanted to talk to the doctor alone.

"Mr. Curtis, the tests indicate that your brother did not have a seizure." He told me gently. I bit on my thumb.

"Then what would they indicate?" I twisted myself to look at him.

He glanced down at his clipboard. "Well, we have no more thoughts on the physical cause. Him having a seizure, being dehydrated, low blood sugar, head trauma, and illness has all been ruled out. We did notice he has high levels of exhaustion – "

"He doesn't sleep well," I said quickly. "He gets nightmares."

The doctor nodded, and wrote on his clipboard. "Yes, I thought it might be something like that. I also need to bring to your attention other things found on your brother."

I stayed quiet, slightly nervous.

"Bruising," said the doctor. "On his back, and shoulders. Like someone grabbed him."

The look he gave me allowed understanding to dawn like an ice cold bucket of water being poured over my head. He thought it was me. He was out here questioning me, because he thought _I_ was the reason for Pony's bruising.

"No," I said, maybe too nervously. "No, never. It wasn't me."

"I didn't ask if it was you."

"You were implying," my temper rose. "That's why you came to talk. Other doctors have already come out to tell me that they don't know what's going on. You came to interrogate."

The doctor put the end of his pen in his mouth. His eyebrows furrowed. "How is yours and Pony's relationship, Darry?"

"Like two siblings that were forced into a difficult situation," My tone became steadily angrier. "Our parents died not too long ago. He's my little brother, but I have to be his father as well."

"So you're a father," said the doctor. God, I didn't like him. "What kind of father?"

What kind of father? How stupid of a question was that? Was I the kind of father that my dad was? Hell to the no. I didn't have the time, or the years to be a father like him. Was I the kind of father that Johnny Cade had? The kind that didn't care where his son was, and beat up on him when he was there? Was I really a father at all? Probably not.

"A stressed one. One that's never there enough."

The doctor began to look sorry for me. He wrote a couple more things down on his clipboard, and then stood up. "Thank you, Mr. Curtis," He said slowly. Then he started to turn.

"Wait," I said. "Is he awake? Can I see him?"

The doctor turned fully back around, and then looked at the boys still sitting in the corner. His face looked worried. "Well – "

"Just me," I told him hurridly. "I wont bring them."

He nodded. "Yes. Come with me, if it's just you."

I followed him, and made eye contact with Sodapop before going through the door. "Darry – ?"

"Wait out here for a minute, Soda," I ordered. He looked up at me from his spot on the floor. Two-Bit and Steve looked anxious and surly. I cast them a quick smile, and pushed into the hallway.

The doctor walked briskly. I stayed silent and kept to his heels diligently. We stopped outside of a door when he turned again to face me.

"Don't stress him out too much."

"I wont."

"I know you want answers, but try to keep your cool."

"Of course."

"Don't chew him out."

"I wont."

"Don't wake him if he is asleep."

"I wont."

"Just be kind."

"I _wont_. Or, no – no," I caught myself. "I mean I will. Yeah, I will. Can I see him now?"

The doctor nodded, and stepped aside. I peeked my head inside Pony's room.

My brother seemed to be asleep. His strange-colored hair fell across his forehead, hiding the top of his eyes. The skin was milk white, and ashen in some places.

I stepped forward very quietly, making no noise at all. But something in him must have sensed that I, or anything was in the room, because his eyes flew open.

They took me into account as I drew closer. "Darry," he whispered.

"Hey," I took a seat in the chair by his bed. "Good to see you, kiddo."

His mouth twitched. "Good to see you too," his voice was scratchy.

I searched his face, which looked genuinely glad to see me. And he looked fine, maybe a little sick. There was nothing in my mind that could have caused him to pass out like he did. Unless he had been so afraid, that it caused a breakdown. And him being that afraid made me afraid.

Pony bent his head to try and catch my eye. "Why are you doing that?" he asked softly.

I hadn't realized that I was just staring into space for minutes. I snapped out it it. "Just thinking."

Pony nodded and fiddled with his blanket. A couple more minutes passed. "Don't you wanna know, Darry?"

I looked at him. "Know what?"

His mouth twitched again. "What just happened. Why I freaked out."

I was surprised at him. "I figured I'd give you some time."

"That's nice of you," he looked upset.

I didn't want him to be upset. I didn't want him to feel that he couldn't tell me things, or carry around fear by himself. But I also didn't want to drag any answers out of him.

"Of course," I assured. "If you wanted to tell me anything now, that would be fine with me."

He looked up from his hands with big eyes. "Okay." he gulped. "I trust you Darry."

"That's a relief."

"I mean I really, really trust you. So trust me that I'm not lying. Please."

I leaned in closer to him. He was curled up in his side, propped on one elbow. "Okay."

He looked at the door before speaking. "Okay. Darry," he said quietly. "I think I'm ready to tell you my secret."

I listened, nodding for him to go on. "I – I see dead people." his voice was hoarse and frightened.

If there was anything in the world to be expecting, it wasn't that. But I kept my cool, and tried to hide my shaking hands. "How often do you see them?"

Pony took a deep breath and spoke very slowly. "_All_ the time."

I bit my bottom lip. "Dead – dead people – like, in coffins? In graves?"

He shook his head frantically. "No, walking around like regular people. They only see what they want to see. And they don't know they're dead."

I stopped biting my lip and felt my mouth fall open. "Soda knows," said Pony. "And so does my friend Parker. You can't tell anyone else, Darry." So that was what Sodapop had wanted to tell me. He has suspected that something Pony had seen was the cause of him fainting. And he was right.

"I wont." my voice sounded terrible. "I wouldn't, ever."

"Not even the doctors," he said. "They wont understand. Please, Darry."

"I wont tell anyone, Pony." My mind and heart were racing. "Don't be afraid."

He laughed a little. "I'm always afraid."

"Well don't be afraid today. I'll stay here with you."

He looked grateful. "Until I fall back asleep?"

I messed with his hair. "And even after." Then I smiled. And he looked like he felt a tiny, tiny bit better. So I put on another smile.

But inside, I had never been more terrified.


End file.
